All That Glitters
by derpette-Waffle
Summary: Thorin decides to remain with his husband in the Shire; in his stead, Fíli is to be crowned King of Erebor. His uncle urges him, in the lead up to the coronation, to find a wife with whom to produce an heir, or the royal line may be in jeopardy!
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE - Thorin's Letter (TA 2944)

* * *

_It is here –made official in this correspondence, hereby and permanently— that I abdicate the Throne of Erebor._

It had been the news Fíli had most dreaded on the arrival of his uncle's letter, and that it opened the letter straight away left him reeling a moment. It was only when the weight so palpable on his shoulders became the comforting clasp of his brother's hand –Kíli read further over the elder's shoulder— that he was able to read on.

_Matters in the Shire wound longer and deeper than I have intended; I am hard-pressed to leave my Consort's side until he is well again, but his recovery is slow and tiresome for the both of us. I have come to the decision that we shall travel no longer, save one return home upon which we will embark when the illness has passed._

_I am a proud of weary dwarf, and have seen more than a fair share of hardship weigh upon our strong people. I shall never be so honoured as to have led the Company of Thirteen through the wilderness and what might have been certain death to any weaker folk less formidable than they who did answer when called upon; but my ill mind will but continue to waft an air of burden through our great halls, long after the danger and degradation has passed. Hardly fit for a King, I say! –the shadows of my past will cast a darkness on our tunnels where a light might yet shine in someone else's rule, in the hands of the Golden Prince. I have heard nothing but praise on his rule in the twelvemonth of my stead, and do not doubt he will make a fine King of our people._

_I shall announce when I move to return, upon my husband's renewed health; we shall stay long enough to arrange for and attend the coronation, before returning to Hobbiton indefinitely._

(A separate note attached to the royal decree, worded more personally and openly than the former. It had been addressed to Balin and passed along to Fíli to read once he had looked over it himself.)

_I trust all is as well as last you wrote me. The rebuild as I hear it pressed on fruitfully, and the people may now have again a home to be proud of. Most personally I must urge Fíli to find himself a wife so he might produce an Heir to the throne; I was blessed that I could lean the future of our lineage on a sibling's son, but with his brother betrothed to an elf he will not have such nephews to set upon the throne when he passes (I write this with a cautious preemptive proclamation of Long Live the King!) Should the Prince not marry and sire a son I fear for the future of the Line of Durin, and I pray he finds his one worth sharing his life and his bed with._

_I relinquish Kingship with the greatest humility but with a swelling pride in my chest in anticipation of seeing the Golden Prince crowned King._

_Regards, your friend –Thorin, son of Thráin, forsaken King of Erebor._

* * *

**A/N:** Another in-universe fic? I think so! (Also title is a bad pun on with Fíli's being the "Golden Prince.")


	2. Chapter 2

It was difficult to form a thought on the matter that could be made into a coherent sentence. Though –of course— Fili had seen himself on the throne someday, with a king's crown, too large and heavy, sitting low on his head, he had never imagined the day might come so soon. At the very least he'd always wished his uncle a long and prosperous life so that rule might not pass for another hundred years or so!

"King of…" His tongue went limp in his mouth before he could finish the incomplete musing. He heard a vague hum somewhere behind him and remembered his brother stood with him, present as his own shadow in a lit cavern. He turned to Kili to gauge his reaction to mediate his own, but there was little to be found in his face –as if the younger brother was waiting on his new king (_no, not King just yet_) to decide whether this was an occasion for celebration or despair. (This indeed was not the case entirely; the younger Prince had his own inward reaction to the news, but it affected him so much less than his dear elder brother that he'd wait until he gave a response, one way or the other, before he'd express his excitement.)

But after he failed to finish one sentence, there was little to be said about another. Mind racing to the point of a dull ache settling in, Fili was forced to think of exactly what this meant –that Thorin would not be returning save for the coronation, which may be months from now; that while he may be an adequate ruling Prince with the full knowledge that the true King would return in time, he suddenly felt entirely mediocre, very small and not ready to take on such a responsibility in his lingering youth. He would accept it come the fateful day –and graciously so— but the thought made his limbs tense and his stomach turn.

"Fee?" It was the familiar voice that brought sensation back when he'd no idea how long it had been since his worries forced him to turn in on himself. He stared with blue eyes otherwise hollow enough that Kili started to worry, a visceral anxiety confirming that this was not a joyous occasion for the soon-King. He took him again by the shoulder and now also the other, and led him out of the dim room, lit only by candles yet enough to clearly read the momentous letter, toward somewhere a bit brighter.

It was several hundred paces taken by the two pairs of heavy footsteps; Fili regained his composure significantly, protesting that he was fine and did not need the physical escort almost as soon as they had left the room, but Kili did not let him go. Curious and some fretful glances followed them through the corridors full of other dwarves; the younger of the princes shielded his brother from their stares as best he could without making a scene of themselves. "No privacy," he laughed softly, earning a small absent smile from Fili as well.

At last they came to what they had been told was the secret entrance the Company had come through to extinguish the dragon, and the thought brought another kind of heavy feeling to Fili's stomach, as neither of them had been fortunate enough to see the quest to its destination; they had been in Laketown then, where he would have lost his brother had their kind Maker not sent a blessing that night in Tauriel. When the Dragon attacked the poor town, Fili had prayed he would never be so powerless in the face of death and near-death ever again.

They left the stone door open as they had stupidly not done once before, and settled on the small but comfortable landing. Sat on the stone ground, backs against stone wall, they sat idly and increasingly comfortably beside each other. No words needed to be exchanged; Kili knew his future King (nearer than expected just that morning) doubted his readiness to take on the full and permanent responsibilities handed down to him by Thorin –Fili knew his little brother had all the confidence in his ability that he himself was too modest or honestly lacking (which, he no longer knew) to own.

Kili kicked a pebble against his boot and broke the silence at last. "Ma will live to see her son King," he mused with a bright smile. "And not be made to forsake her brother for it."

Fili laughed softly and wrung his hands. The sky was growing dark and the air was cold around them; they were underdressed for the dreariness but neither shivered. After much fumbling of his tongue and jaw his dull lips at last moved under the pinkish tip of his nose. "I suppose that's something she might look forward to. But when the pride wears away?"

"A dwarf's pride never wears!" and they both laughed.

"The pride to see her child—" (and for the first time in a long time, he felt again very much an ignorant child) "— sat on the throne of her fathers. But the joy will no doubt thin once the coronation has completed and there is no more pomp and ceremony and all too much weight."

"A weight I know –and who knows you better?— that you can carry with ease, even if you don't believe it yet. You'll see: when the time comes to be the high ruler of our people you will surely rise to the occasion as you always have. Never once have you disappointed, not your family, not any dwarf of Erebor. There is no cause to doubt yourself now!"

Fili shook his head and stared into the distant West., arms tight across his chest. He heard his brother at his left toying with more small stones, and wished himself so at ease. He had no logical basis for arguing further. _I have heard nothing but praise on his rule,_ Thorin had acknowledged so objectively; not trying to calm the Crown Prince's nerves but make an observation to his regarded counsel. Thorin was, indeed, a very proud if troubled King –surely he would not leave his dear kingdom and all those therein in the authority of someone in whom he did not have the utmost trust. But it was maybe that kind trust that left him so reeling at the thought of failure.

A new energy overtook him, a fire in his heart that spread heat to his limbs and caused him to jump to his feet, running back in as if dashing over hot coals, running footfalls echoing in the dark corridor as he navigated easily. "Fili—!" He heard his brother's voice trail behind him, but Kili must have stood himself, and closed the heavy door before he could sprint after him –the elder had a good head start en route to the council hall.

There, as he'd expected, he found his mother sitting beside Balin. The Crown Prince's sudden entry brought the two out of conversation –Balin nodded his head in submission to the future King; Dis would never bow, King or no King, to the child (for he was always a child) she had brought into the world. Rather, he bowed slightly to her before any words were exchanged. "You read your uncle's letter?" she asked, leaning her cheek in her palm.

"I did," the Prince answered curtly, looking between the two and feeling as if he'd initiated his own interrogation. "I cannot believe it is true."

"It is," Dis answered calmly, willing her flustered son at peace –for as he was always a child, she was always a mother. "And no one who knows already has said a word against it; you will be a great king. Do you doubt it?" She knew the answer, and wanted honesty from her golden boy.

"I… do, in some ways. I'm sure no one has lied in saying that I have done well so far, but this is all very overwhelming."

"Then don't think about it too much right now." She carried the assurance alone, as Balin had returned to some work; he could provide no support the mother could not. "Nothing is changed yet, and –as apparently poor Bilbo's health will not allow a more urgent return— it will be months yet before you are officially made King. Until then, rule as you have and without a doubt in your head. Your people look to you for guidance –it is only your duty to follow what your heart's morals and judgment bid and not lead them astray."

Fili nodded and tried to think it over, but was soon interrupted by the comfortingly familiar voice of his shadow, joining them in the large chamber, a trail of Khuzdul expletives falling from his tongue until he acknowledged their mother's presence. She smirked and Kili bowed low to her out of respect and embarrassment. But Dis, satisfied with what she had said to boost her oldest son's morale, took up her reading. The two brothers dismissed, they left and engulfed themselves in silence until they could be alone outside their bed chambers.

"What was that about?" The younger almost laughed at the incredulity of Fili's behavior that day. "I had to ask twice for directions, see if anyone had seen the Golden Prince run through, just to find where you had gone!"

Fili smiled a bit to himself and, weary from an extraordinary evening, bid his brother goodnight.


	3. Chapter 3

Kili was hovering outside his brother's chambers before sunup, but the elder prince was awake even before the fist came pounding at his door. An aching head had kept him up most of the night, and what little sleep he'd taken was whisked back away just as quickly an hour earlier; the dull throb had not subsided and was not the least eased by the banging and shouting at the stone door. He croaked out an answer, one hopefully deterrent enough to keep Kili at bay.

Not so; "I thought I might bring you breakfast!" He stood with a tray of ham and eggs, potatoes and tea –just enough to share— but the sweet-smelling meal was the last thing on his mind that morning. "Aren't you going to let me in? My hands are full!"

Fili groaned and turned over on his bed, and then back the other way. "Let yourself in, you earlybird nit." He was grateful then that the Princes' chambers did not have the same heavy locks as the King's, as in his state he might have locked it straight up and been made to answer the door or let his brother continue shouting at it. His weariness would suffer regardless; it would much better be less agitated by a calmer voice.

Kili did let himself into the room, pushing at the stone with his shoulder (the one that had not been injured in the battle that had graciously spared his life.) He entered and leaned back against the door to close it, a wide grin spread into prickly cheeks. Fili watched him through half-lidded eyes. "Good morning!" he greeted too cheerily, setting the food down beside the bed and plopping down by the Crown Prince's knees. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not a bit." He rubbed at his eyes and stared blankly, mind fighting to catch up with the sudden energy in the room. "Is something wrong?" He doubted it, from the younger's airy countenance, but why should he come knocking at such an hour?

"Eat, please." Kili pulled two forks from the low pocket of his trousers and handed one to his regal brother. "We're going today."

Fili twitched in confusion –"Going where?"

"To Dale." He scooped a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and chewed slowly, and shifting smile on his lips. "Word is they are throwing a celebratory feast, to acknowledge the hard work the people had put into the rebuild in the city going on three years now. I say we ought to pay our own tribute to the brave and unyielding men, and women: our neighbors."

The rationale, in Fili's sleepless mind, was of much sounder reason than the suggestion itself. "Kili— we cannot just arrive there, to their celebration, unannounced and without urgent cause." Their uncle had left what he feared might be a lingering wound on relations between Dale and Erebor. The Prince on the throne had, in the proper King's absence, done his best to keep peace between the Man and Dwarf kingdoms, maintaining a careful respect of any boundaries that may prevent what could be a lucrative treaty. He would not cross that line; he may not ever approach it.

But Kili seemed confident in his scheme, the ends to which even his lifelong confidant could not yet decipher. "We have no ill will against them in the slightest; no mind for war. There is no reason that Bard should not open his city to a fellow King so eager to keep peace."

Fili's shoulders knotted at the title –"I am not a King—"

"Not yet, but in a few months' time, there will no longer be any doubt. You must accept and pursue the standard you wish to set. Big brother, why would you not take such an opportunity to meet with Lord Bard at ease, so you may talk peace?"

Fili was too limp in retort to not give Kili the satisfaction that he'd bested his brother's hesitation, and that they'd be riding for the short journey to Dale before the sun was at its crest.

* * *

The stable kept by the dwarves of Erebor was nestled low on the north face of the Mountain. A hobbling stableboy manned it today, and helped each of the small royal party to a pony that would suit them. His face burned on realization that he hadn't a horse to offer Tauriel, but she seemed unfazed. "I will walk, then," she concluded easily, helping a reluctantly accepting Kili onto the pony of choice, a midnight mare named Pepper.

"You will ride with me," he insisted from the thin saddle, with a smile that almost made his love not want to argue, but there was no fitting the both of them on the poor beast.

"I will walk," she said again. "Alongside you." And he didn't protest further, watching a spark settle in her deep eyes for a moment, his own leaking with adoration. She flushed and held Pepper by one side of the reins.

There was a creature in the far corner stall, fair and sturdy as the Golden Prince himself; Fili immediately took a liking to this handsome pony, and he'd barely learned her name was Daisy before he was astraddle her back. He pulled a pouch of silver from his breast pocket and dropped it into the boy's hand: "It covers the fee for all eight," he said, and with a little smile, "and a little bit for yourself." The stablehand thanked him profusely and watched them all ride toward the city.

Ponies trotted and conversation lulled to the occasional remark met with little more than agreeing hums. They moved more slowly than they might so that Tauriel could keep up on brisk footpace. None dare suggested they leave her behind; of any in their presence, mostly guards or friendly companions of the regal siblings, Tauriel was second in regard only to the two princes. She'd proven worthy of their respect while she lived among them under stone where any elf would feel ill at ease; she had taken it in stride to be a delegate between Erebor and the Woodland Realm, and to prove herself worthy of her mate. And Kili, she knew, would eagerly do the same were their roles reversed –she would not ask it any more than he did of her. (She wanted to feel like, in the eyes of her lover's people, she'd earned him: no one could take that devotion from her.)

Fili rode near them. He'd often tease them for the way each would stare so longingly at the other –like the initial spark had never smoldered, still burned in their chests and shone in their eyes. But the present situation left little room for such jest. He was indeed, or so it seemed, to meet with Bard and speak King to future King, start some arrangement between their kingdoms so the quietude may linger. Surely each had seen enough lost in recent years –but as the people of Dale, formerly of Laketown, celebrated their fruitful will to go on, there was much to be said on the matter of forward motion.


	4. Chapter 4

They were not, on first arrival, openly welcomed into the city. Fili could not blame the Men of Dale for being suspicious of them. Dragon fire had been brought upon the Lake the night the Company had disturbed the reclusive beast; the battle among their peoples and two others –needless death had rained down upon the poor Men of Laketown, then Dale, where they dwelt and lived peacefully again. The few years since the Mountain was reclaimed would not mend so readily of its own volition –their lives had been directly burdened by the Company's meddling and former-King Thorin's abhorrence to those he had himself bartered for transport and weapons. Fili would now carry the responsibility of his uncle's kingdom and decisions made then that were not the young prince's to question. He would undo the ill will bred by greed if it was not too late, their impressions carved in the bloodied stone walls of the city.

The Golden Prince hopped down from the spirited Daisy and stood at the slope reaching the city wall. Two weary men in rusted helmets watched him and those who rode and stood just behind. One proclaimed that on such a day of leisure they let death take them before they allowed it t be brought again upon their women, their children, their elderly.

"I've come not for war –but for peace," the dwarf lord called up to them, arms out to his side to show that even he –as often adorned with blades and axes as he liked— was entirely unarmed, as was the lot of his companions. "We've come with gifts: gold and precious gems hewn from the rock of our city to present to the people of yours. We wish to pay tribute to your people and congratulate the sturdiness they've shown in the face of darkness. Will you turn us away when we ask nothing but entrance and offer such as is deserving of the women, the children, the elders and the brave men who tasted bitter victory over fire and war?"

The guards glanced between each other and debated in hushed tones; it seemed the man on the right at last won out, and they retreated back behind the wall. Fili waited anxiously; had they indeed turned them aside? Was a distrust of the Erebor Dwarves sewn so unyielding into their hearts? He watched another moment, breath held tight in his chest, ignoring the murmuring behind him that spoke of their own doubts –"They mean to return with arrows and strike us down while we are off our guard!"

"Don't make fools of yourselves!" Kili shut down the nonsense and awaited his brother's judgment of the situation. "They do not wish death upon us; Men are not quite so resentful."

"And what do you know of Men?" the dwarf –at least two hundred years old— demanded with a laugh of the young spare prince, only just eighty years himself.

Kili dismounted Pepper and moved to the old dwarf's pony, taking the reins and stroking its mane with a firm hand much more gentle than the gaze he struck into the suddenly demure elderly brute. "I know that their Lord Bard is a reasonable and generous man, with thoughts of the safety of his people above his own glory, and sympathy for others who mean him no harm. To launch an attack on us would be to bring war upon his already war-grieved people –can you tell me, would he risk it?"

There was not a word to be said in protest, and the prince returned to Pepper to feed her some oats.

Tauriel approached Fili and stood silently beside him, watching the same crest of the wall with no better angle granted by her superior height. She turned only briefly behind to her soon-husband; he would not be coming to join them. "What do you make of it, my lord?" she asked coolly. The elf was briefly made to think of the king she had called such for so many centuries; he who had reluctantly forgiven her after the battle and suffered to negotiate with her, as she'd come on behalf of the Dwarves, with whom he would much less willingly deal.

Fili sighed, hope draining the longer and longer they were left in anticipation. "I make nothing of it," he admitted softly, for her ears only. "If we are not welcomed now, under such amiable conditions, I fear for the future of relations with Dale."

"Time will heal any resentment they may carry." Tauriel knew from many hundreds of years the effects of time on a cyclic world. She convinced herself that awful thoughts of the dwarves would die out in a winter frost at the end of this life of men, and new thoughts, new relations would bloom. It may not be in this King's life, she feared; but if she remained in the Mountain halls in that day, she would be blessed to see it through, and make known the Golden Prince, Golden King, who had first sought such peace following so much despair.

Time may heal unobstructed, the royal dwarf conceded. If the time of the dragon and greedy prideful war could be never spoken of again, then indeed the mistrust may die out. But stories of "the wickedness of the Dwarves" would be passed to the next generation inside the city walls in front of which they still stood waiting; and the next generation and the next, every revival straying farther from the truth and more into cruel exaggeration, ripping open a deep and festering wound.

Fili found it, in that moment, difficult not to blame Thorin –whom he so highly regarded these eighty-five years— for what would plague them all in years and centuries to come.

"Tauriel –I must admit, your intelligent optimism for the situation eases the anxiety, gives me courage to stand here begging at their gate." These words, too, were only for the delegate who met them with a small smile. He had much already welcomed her as an elf-sister, and awaited the union longer and as eagerly as renewed relations with the Men of the city. But, in contrast to his sort of easing and steadiness her assurance stirred in him, he was yet afraid; he confided in her his fear of tales to be told to the children of the city, such that he would not permit be told to dwarflings of Erebor; even in victory he would not have death made glorious.

Tauriel let out a small breath. "We would not wish you such unrest, my lord. I have been among them—" (Tauriel had been allowed inside the city more than once before between the Mountain and Mirkwood) "and their distrust is not so much disdain as wariness –and we cannot blame them; but I have faith they will see how your nature contrasts their perception of the Dwarves, and will allow us to join their celebration."

The Prince nodded and, with little left to say without retreading old arguments, a silence settled between them; in short time, Tauriel stepped back to join her lover and his pony.

Chances grew dim as the sky took on a rosy hue in the wintry sky. It had been two hours or so since their arrival; everyone had dismounted; many of the dwarves among them were sat around chatting idly and roasting sausages. The odd-in-love couple stood off to the side a while, taking long and mutual glances at the blond prince who stood where he had this long and weary wait. The younger prince soon excused himself to speak with his older brother; insisted he take a seat that Fili declined, and stood watching the wall with him.

"Dull, isn't it?" he hummed, attempting to crack through his elder sibling's tired expression; Fili granted him a small smirk for his efforts. "If you wish –we may send them back." He spoke quietly so as not to rouse the others. "I can tell this has come to mean a lot to you. If you will stay and wait into night, then I will remain as well; but Lord Bard might be more willing to allow two dwarves he's known before into the city than six additional strangers."

Fili took a weighted breath and nodded. "You're all dismissed!" he called behind them, though his head faced ever straight forward. There was murmuring at his command, and he heard them slowly come to smother the fire and take up their mounts. Not another word was said to the future King as they got the ponies trotting back toward the looming mountain. Fili finally turned when they were gone; Kili, of course, remained, along with Tauriel, who stood firmly holding the reins each of Pepper and Daisy. He gave them a warm smile and a nod of his head, and as the sun fell below the horizon behind the city, they continued to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

When the gate was unlatched it was by the Lord of the town himself. Bard stood in the dim light into the darkness settled around, and stared with vague sympathy at the two dwarves, both swaying slightly after hours standing, waiting and watching at the wall. Tauriel was awake and alert next to Kili, and she greeted Bard with a small but graceful bow; he seemed a bit confused but offered a nod of his head.

Fili came to his wits and spoke in a hoarse drawl that he struggled to make sound kingly: "Lord Bard. I understand your hesistation in coming to us, and between lord and ruling prince nothing is begrudged on my part. But our original purpose is lost on the late hour. We ask refuge for the night –we arrived midday and would be hard pressed to return in the morning," lest they receive the same coldness at the gate –but he didn't say so. In the brief pause Bard did not insist protest, so he went on: "I do have matters to discuss, if you'd allow it. But we are hungry and tired –and would request not more than humble lodging and a small bit of food to sleep comfortably tonight."

Bard quickly gestured the three in and asked one of his men to close and lock the gate again for the night. "Unless we have more weary travelers at our door –then be a bit quicker in telling me." The gruff man nodded his head and pushed the large wooden door shut and barricaded it tight.

They were led briskly to the town hall, and among the three from the mountain only Tauriel knew –with a little relief— that it was where the Lord and his family lived in the rooms above, no more extravagantly than they had on the lake. It was also where, earlier, the great feast had been had by the increasingly prosperous people. There was a long road yet ahead of them, but tragedy had brought rebirth and revitalization to the grim fishermen and listless fishermen's families.

Bard was explaining quickly why it had been they were left waiting out in the dark and cold for so long, while he called his children to bring blankets for their guests. "My guards were… reluctant to alert me to your arrival, especially while the feast was going. I was finally told not an hour ago –and there's little food left over to offer you, but what will be lacking there might be made up for in accommodations."

Fili listened through a daze to the explanation and tried to make peace with his worries, granting them the time they'd been left outside while relieving his mind with the warmth around him, the hospitality they were being granted at last.

With some help from his son –whom Fili remembered as a rather slight teen, but had grown into a lithe but sturdy young man— Bard pulled three cots from a storage room in back and set them up in the large hall. The clang of iron legs against well-worn wooden floors echoed in the empty vastness, a sound similar to one familiar and comforting to the dwarf brothers. The lord of the town made a brief inquiry of his son –Fili's fuddled mind suddenly recalled his name to be Bain— and was satisfied to hear that Sigrid was gathering blankets and boiling water for tea, and Tilda gathering scraps of food from the pantry.

Bain patted the low stiff mattress of the first cot to be assembled, looking at the blond prince with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry it isn't much."

Fili shook his head and gave a sleepy smile, one that curled strangely into his cheeks but reached his quarter-lidded eyes. "It's more than enough, thank you." He did not take the first bed for himself, nor did Kili (tired as he was, up much too early that morning). Tauriel would willfully decline coming to rest before the two but took a seat willingly. She reached out and wrapped an arm around Kili's waist and pulled him to stand against her before his legs would fail him.

They all had the chance to sit when the final cot's legs were steady beneath it, and by then Bard's daughters had arrived. Tilda arrived first, trotting down the stairs quickly but arms stiff so she wouldn't spill the tea in three wooden cups huddled to one corner of the tray, or drop the collective pile of a hodgepodge of food bits. She was a clumsy sort of ease to her in her early teenage years, the redness of sleep around her bright eyes but a very genuine and eager smile on her face as she handed out the guests' meals.

"I remember you," she whispered to each of them, and got sleepy fond smiles in return. Whatever they didn't take right away she set on a nearby table, strolling about the room in case she was needed further. "My sister will be down soon with the blankets," she informed, leaning back on her folded hands against a pillar. "They were on a higher shelf than she expected, and needed to find a stool while I gathered the food and watched the teapot."

"Sorry, I'm coming!" And the older sister, the eldest of the Lord's children, came down the stairway, watching her step around a pile of blankets.

Fili failed to convince himself that it was the tiredness of his eyes that were to blame for his stare. He hadn't seen Sigrid since Laketown had burned and scarcely a word had been exchanged between them. (He remembered shielding the children –then all of them children— from the orcs, and helping her specifically into the boat –"Give me your hand.") He'd had no chance then to properly look at her, to feel as stricken with her as he was now. He could blame her relative youth (she must've been twenty or twenty-one now, he guessed) at the time; or the frantic time he'd spent by her in Laketown, between the urgency of the quest drawing to a close, Kili's frightful illness, orcs and elves, an a town set ablaze. Whatever had muddled his view then had cleared away in time and now, he couldn't look away.

Her own eyes, as clear as the prince's and more at ease than last he'd seen them, settled on him as well –but much more briefly, he noted with a pang of something distressing: only a moment longer on his face than the others as she handed out woolen blankets.


	6. Chapter 6

Their energies were renewed by the hot mugs of tea and scraps of good food, and Fili and Kili were no longer fighting off sleep in the presence of Bard and his children. The Lord of Dale bid them a civil good-night and retreated up the stairs; Bain followed soon after him. Sigrid turned to the three of them –"You're all comfortable?" she asked most hospitably, in such a warm voice that made Fili's face burn against his mug as he nodded with his companions. She smiled a little, satisfied with her service, and stepped back to the stairs. "Tilda, off to bed."

And the youngest trailed up behind her without a word –but returned to the great hall within minutes, a large thin book and stout charcoal pencils in her hands. "I thought I'd keep you company; I wasn't tired, anyway." She said it like a naughty child up past her bedtime, and the youthfulness of her spirit warmed them to her like mittens on their shivering hearts.

They talked a while, but Fili's mind was otherwise engaged in such a way that his input dwindled until the conversation was carried between the other three. He thought still (with something akin to guilty reverence) of Sigrid: of her pleasant nature, smooth voice, modest grace moving up and down the stairs. He'd never been so enraptured by any being of this earth before and it terrified and excited him relentlessly.

Through his thoughts –entirely coincidence or fate's way of taunting him— he made out that the conversation had moved to the topic of the anticipated union of the lovebirds present. Tilda giggled gleefully at the thought of a wedding and asked if she might be invited, to which she'd received a quick and mutual assent, to which the elder prince smiled absently.

"And when I get married," the young maiden promised, "I will get word to the two of you quick as a date can be set."

Fili's thoughts briefly turned to the statement, thinking it over. Tilda was young yet –from what he could guess, no more than fourteen years— but her bright eyes, bubbly personality, eager service and noble blood to boot would likely draw at least a few prospective suitors (all of whom would be flatly dismissed by Bard for their age so contrasting the child's youth). Still, he wondered if anyone had tried –"Do you know yet to whose wedding you'd be inviting us?"

She smiled. "My own, of course. But if you mean a potential husband, then no. There was this one boy who rather fancied me, but only one –I turned him away, gently as I could, but he did not impress me as a lover so much as a friend." It was so odd to hear the word come from the mouth of such a sweet young girl. "He died in the fire."

"I'm sorry." He didn't know to whom –Tilda, the boy, his family (all of them, he supposed)— or what exactly he was apologizing for. Maybe because when Smaug attacked, they'd tried to get away. He hadn't tried to help anyone, none of them had. He worried the poor boy had been snuffed out of the world within view of their escaping boat, but turned his mind away from such thoughts.

It was, oddly, Kili who asked the question he'd been too afraid to ask himself –Kili did not have to feel the burning embarrassment of making the inquiry regarding a young woman he had not been wondering after since the odd reunion. "And what about Sigrid? Is she marrying soon?"

Tilda answered in a hushed, smiling voice. "There are many men who throw themselves at her feet, but none are worthy. Too many are crusty and hungry for the nobility marriage to Sig could award them, like she is some prize for any old hack to take. But our father will not have it, and should any con get past his guard, well –Sigrid is too bright for their charms. She would not give into any man who would use her like they all seek."

"If there was one…" Fili's voice was so soft it almost passed his lips unnoticed. "If there was one who would not use his charms –had he any— to wicked ends; if he had no need for a title given by a union with the suitable young woman –what would be the verdict made upon him?"

The question stunned the others into silence; Tilda fumbled for an answer. "If his motives were pure and loving, our father could have no objections, if it would make her happy. The decision would ultimately be her own –I guess, but I don't know."

* * *

In the morning the Crown Prince had two thoughts in mind. The first, he remembered his purpose in their coming to Dale: to renew a peace and hopefully build reciprocal relations with its people. The second, as his accursed mind had fled to that night in both alert and dreaming hours, were of the Lord's eldest daughter. He felt some sickness rise in his throat and washed it down with a few swigs of water from the well outside. It was then that he was summoned to meet with the head of the city.

It made the prince quiver to talk politics with Bard when he'd thought of little last night but his most grown child. The knowledge of the inappropriateness, even possible depravity, of his enraptured state was difficult to manage through, but as they spoke of peace, Bard did seem a good deal satisfied.

"There's been bad blood between the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor in recent decades; it likely reached its peak with King Thorin, but there has been no word of the King in quite some time, and I appreciate that I may speak openly of peace with his heir. I… sense no falseness in the way you speak of restoring good will, and it is a refreshing thing to hear." He offered him a cup of tea, which Fili used to swallow the troublesome lump in his throat, gulping until it ebbed somewhat. "I wish nothing ill upon Thorin, but when I am gone he will be approaching the same. I'd fear my son's struggles to deal with an elderly but potentially bitter old king –if you'll permit me; but we have not had much reason to instill any more trust in him." (It had been under Fili's rule that the treasure promised to Laketown had been delivered, and it had been declared they were as well as even.) "But what worried me more was that he may yet deal with an even more hostile King after him. It is a relief to know that he'd be left to delegate with a much more sensible and, dare I say, kind-hearted future king."

Some of the words he used were painful to bear –Fili's loyalty to Thorin was unrelenting, and if he were too naïve to acknowledge how his uncle had done wrong, he might abandon thoughts of negotiation here. Instead, he spoke with cordial calm. "Thorin had relinquished his kingship in the interest of happier times for our people." He hesitated to speak of Thorin with any weakness, but it spoke to his redemption of character more than his diminished confidence. "He is in the Shire with his ailing consort, and when he returns, it will be to arrange for my coronation. I am not yet king, but I'm the closest to the position there is now. And this is the first time I've admitted it to myself –I received the news just two days past, but had the heavy feeling of the decision in my gut long before it had been received. I will be King Under the Mountain, and would renew the good relations with the City of Dale as had been kept in generations past. A dragon had come between our peoples –the dragon is dead three years now, by your hand; let us here together kill the grudge that had come between them."

The idea, and the way Fili had expressed it, seemed almost to impress the Lord of Dale. Bard himself had had much the same mindset coming into his homely office today. "I'd see it done. But what do you ask of us?"

"Alliance," he answered plainly. "Should another threat plague our much shared land, let us take up arms together, each in defense of the other. I can promise the willful strength of my people, and shelter to those of yours who cannot fight. The women and children –your daughters, my lord— may seek refuge in our fortress of a city; they may hide in the deep recesses away from harm, safe from war."

Bard bit the inside of his cheek, watching a fly skitter across his desk, lost in consideration. The deal was more than fair, offering something that his city could not provide in the shelter the kind new king promised. "Can I trust your word more than I can trust Thorin's?"

"I owe something to you –I think you remember— worth more to me than can be repaid."

It was then that Bard felt assured in the trust he could place in him. "Alright." He offered a small smile that was returned twofold. "But I must assure the fortitude of your caverns in which more than half my people would be led. I cannot leave the city myself even a day –but I have someone who can."


End file.
